


Tick Marks and Royalty

by vine_and_hawthorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Dominant Hermione, Explicit Sexual Consent, F/M, Gore, Logic, Moral Ambiguity, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Secret Relationship, Solving problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vine_and_hawthorn/pseuds/vine_and_hawthorn
Summary: Harry Potter is dead. Voldemort has won the war and is making plans to permanently secure his victory across Europe. To establish control, Voldemort names all the sacred pureblood families, who are not blood traitors, as royal families in each European country. The Malfoy's become the U.K.'s royal family.Captured by Voldemort's forces, Hermione and the other Order members are forced to serve each royal family. As fate would have it, Hermione gets assigned to work for the Malfoys. As the resistance against Voldemort gets stronger, so do Hermione's unwanted feelings for Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Little Feather

There were now 298 tick marks. They indicate it has almost a year since Harry died and Hermione, along with the other survivors, were taken by Death Eaters down to the reworked cells in Azkaban until Voldemort could decide what to do with them.

At first, imprisonment was torture. Just because he could, Voldemort put Hermione in an adjacent cell to Ron. Although they could see each other, they were unable to touch or comfort each other with anything more than words. The cells were barred and a magical ward stopped Hermione from reaching through the bars to grab Ron one last time.

Instead, Hermione spent every day that first week telling Ron how much she loved him. She would repeat the three words over and over again, letting the salt from her tears mix with the sound coming off of her tongue.

Hermione couldn’t afford to lose Ron. She had already lost her parents, the rest of the Weasleys and Harry. Ron was all that she had left, and she needed him to know that. 

After Hermione had run out tears for the day, she would crawl to the back floorboard and use her necklace to scratch a line into the floorboard under her scraggly initials. She felt compelled to count the days. A sense of time was essential to her sanity while she remained in the cells. 

Hermione wasn’t the first one to do it either. Her lines resided under three other sets of initials and tick marks. There was T.K, S.B, and B.W. 

Sometimes at night Hermione would spend the time imagining who these other initials were and why they found themselves in Azkaban; however, she had to stop imagining pretty quickly because she was asking questions that she would never get answers to. The thought of never getting out is what hurt her the most. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to think of watching Ron die of exhaustion or starvation while she was forced to watch.

After those first seven days, Rookwood came down to see them. He held shackles in his hands and Hermione knew that he had been sent to take one of them.

She hoped that Rookwood would force her to stand and take her to be executed by Voldemort himself. She would think of a plan, and if not, Hermione was willing to die.

But she was not willing to let Ron die. She couldn’t be without him down in these cells. And if they ever did escape, or someone came to save them, Hermione wanted Ron to be the one who made it out. 

Rookwood stood directly in front of Hermione’s cell and gazed at her with a disgusted look. “I see you’ve given in to who you truly are.”

His eyes scanned her body and it took Hermione several seconds to realize what he was talking about. 

Neither Hermione nor Ron had been given showers or more than a stale biscuit once a day since they had arrived in Azkaban. Hermione noted that she was caked in blood, although she didn’t know whether it was her own, and her clothes were littered in mud.

“No more glimmer in your eyes, mudblood.” Rookwood seethed out that last word as though there was no greater evil in the world. 

“Don’t talk to her!” 

Hermione’s eyes flew over to Ron who had jumped up from where he was sitting. His hands were sizzling as they firmly grasped the bars of his cell, trying to get closer to her. Trying to save her.

Rookwood’s attention drifted down to Ron’s hands as well. Slowly a sickening smile began to take over his face as he backed away from where he stood outside of Hermione’s cell. Hermione’s gut began to sink.

“No worries blood-traitor. I’m not here for the girl.”

Hermione started shaking as sobs released themselves from where they had been building in her throat. “No! Please,” Hermione started. “Don’t take him. Don’t do this.”

“This isn’t a negotiation mudblood. The ginger comes with me.” Rookwood’s smile became increasingly satisfactory as he entered Ron’s cell and yanked Ron’s burning hands away from the wards.

Hermione tried to focus on Ron’s face. He looked calm. He was calm.

Ron shook his head at her and mouthed the words “I’ll be okay.” Only Hermione knew that he couldn’t promise her that. Ron didn’t know what lay outside of these cells and Hermione was not going to risk Ron being the one to find out.  
She mouthed back, “I’m sorry.”

“Rookwood! Take me. Take me instead of Ron. I will do anything that the Dark Lord wants.” Ron’s face shifted into a state of horror while Rookwood’s became agitated. 

Tugging Ron out of his cell, Rookwood came to stand in front of Hermione’s. He met her pleading eyes and laughed. A moment later he sent a Petrificus Totalus towards her and Hermione fell back onto the wooden floors.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure how long she had been immobilized. She tried counting in her head, but she quickly drifted into sleep. When she awoke, the spell no longer bound her. She crawled back into the corner and added another tick mark under her initial.

Ron returned three tick marks later. He didn’t look physically injured, but he would sob at night yelling “stop.” Hermione figured that he had been under the Cruciatus curse for long periods of time. Voldemort was trying to break them.

Ron and Hermione tried talking, but he would always turn away after a bit. Ron even tried to tell Hermione what happened once. All that he could spit out was that their conversation made him feel as though he was betraying his mind. Hermione tried to make sense of what that meant but she knew little about Voldemort’s methods of torture.

The next week Ron was taken again. He returned but was taken by Rookwood a few days after. 

Every time Ron became more and more detached from her. On Hermione’s thirty-sixth tick stroke, Ron had stopped acknowledging her all together. 

Hermione knew that Ron had undergone something terrible, but she couldn’t take him ignoring her. It was like he dead. Although wrong to be thinking it, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if death would have been better for Ron.

On day fourty-five, it seemed as though Hermione had gotten her wish. Ron was taken again, and that was the last time she saw him. 

After she realized that he wasn’t going to return, Hermione added Ron to her list of lost loved ones that she spoke to in her mind each night. She had nothing left.

About three months into her imprisonment, Rookwood came with some medi-witches and she got her first shower, if you could even call it that. When they arrived, Hermione had been in the back corner using her necklace to add another tick mark to her list. Rookwood saw what she was up to and immediately summoned the necklace into his hands.

The necklace was from her mother. It had a simple chain, but at the end dangled a blue sapphire, for her birth month, and underneath it was a charm of a feather.

When Hermione closed her eyes and clutched the necklace in her hands, she could almost imagine that she was back home with her mother. Hermione would lay in her mom’s arms as her mom gently traced a line from her forehead to nose. 

She could remember how safe she felt in her mom’s arms. Nothing could hurt her there. And just as Hermione would fall asleep, her mom would whisper in her ear. 

“Goodnight my little feather.”

After Rookwood left with the necklace, Hermione felt frozen. Never had she been more alone in her life than she was in the room. Not only had Voldemort and his followers taken all the people that mattered away, but even her possessions and sanity were gone. 

Hermione had no way to count the days. It was only a matter of time before she wasted away. 

She desperately tried to think of how she could keep her sanity until she escaped or was saved. Hermione’s anger began to rise and her fists balled at her side. She reminded herself that she wasn’t alone. She needed to hold on for the other people locked somewhere in Azkaban’s cells. 

She wouldn’t die before she could save Ginny, or the other Weasley’s who were still alive. She owed that to them and to Ron.

Hermione’s eyes flitted down to her hands and she realized her overgrown nails had drawn blood. Suddenly, Hermione felt a flicker of hope.

She quickly made away to her bed and small blanket. Her hands reached for the button of her recently scourgified jeans and slid them down just below her underwear. Bringing her hands to her hip bone at her side, Hermione settled on a place slightly lower.

She took a deep breath and dug her fingernail into the upper part of the side of her thigh. 

Hermione channelled all of her anger. She thought of Harry’s broken body in Hagrid’s arms and Ron’s detached look in his cell. She thought of Molly’s body being tossed aside by Bellatrix. She thought of Fleur’s screams when Bill was killed by Yaxley and George’s face when he realized Fred was gone. She thought of when she was tortured in Malfoy manner. She thought of revenge.

When Hermione was done, she licked her fingers to wipe away the new blood and found herself with a small but deep cut in her thigh.

The tick marks grew on her side as the days progressed. One by one. Hermione had found a new way to stay sane.

And every night after she added the newest tick mark to her body, she went over each and every previous one. Hermione wanted to make sure that these tick marks would scar. She wanted them to stay on her side forever. Not only would they remind her of what she went through, but also how she could persevere.

As Hermione’s monotonous days continued, so did her nightly routine. By day 298, the scars had progressed their way towards her knee. 

Hermione had just begun to speak to Harry in her mind when she heard footsteps down the hallway from her cell. She quickly pulled herself together, as she knew this could be Voldemort coming to get her.

Whatever he had tried on Ron clearly hadn’t worked. She suspected once Voldemort had figured out what went wrong and led to Ron’s death, he would come her. Hermione was not looking forward to the torture, but she knew she couldn’t save anyone from her position in this cell. 

The footsteps grew nearer and Hermione wandered to the front of her cell to greet Rookwood. Only the gentlemen in the hallway did not resemble Rookwood at tall. His hair was long and almost white in colour.

Hermione did not even have time to collect herself or mask her surprise when she found herself locking eyes with the man. 

It was Lucius Malfoy.


	2. Daydreams

Never had Hermione ever thought she would be standing behind the bars of an Azkaban cell while Lucius Malfoy stood free on the outside. The situation seemed almost laughable.

There had only been a few times where Hermione had been in the same room as Lucius, but those moments were enough for her to know better than to actively participate in a conversation with him. And yet here they stood.

Back at Hogwarts, Hermione had what she would consider to be a minor crush on Draco Malfoy. 

It started in fourth year. 

It was only a few weeks into term and Malfoy was already superseding Hermione in Potions class. She had long suspected that Snape was purposefully giving Malfoy better marks, but after four years of being second in their year when it came to Potions, Hermione found that she no longer could deal with the bias treatment.

So, Hermione began on a mission to prove that Malfoy was no better than her in the class. To start, Hermione suspected she could find physical proof of Snape’s bias.

Originally, she pestered Ron and Harry to help her. She thought that having a common enemy would unite the boys. The two were currently not speaking because Harry’s name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire. But both boys shot her down fairly quickly.

Ron laughed at the idea of working with Harry. Hermione knew she should have gotten Ron on board before she told him that she had also asked, but her excitement got the best of her. Meanwhile, Harry politely declined her mission as well. He was preoccupied with strategizing for the first task. Although it was months away.

Harry must have sensed Hermione’s irritation because he apologetically offered his invisibility cloak up as his replacement. This wasn’t what Hermione wanted but she knew she was better off on her own anyway. After all, it wasn’t as though her life was in danger. Just her reputation as best in their year. And for Hermione, that was almost worse.

Off on her own, Hermione would spend her free time following Snape. He never went anywhere quite interesting, and he mainly kept to himself around students and other professors; however, on her third day, she caught a glimpse of Snape’s grade book.

The book was massive and bound in scarlet-coloured dragon leather. From afar it looked as though Snape had pages of notes for every student at Hogwarts detailing their performance throughout their years. Hermione’s fingers twitched as she entered a state of disquietude. 

She needed that book. 

Unfortunately, Snape kept the copy locked away in his private office under what looked like blood protection. Hermione couldn’t be quite sure of the protection on the drawer with the book, but it would be foolish to attempt the drawer without more information or a plan. She wasn’t Harry. 

So, Hermione spent at least another week hatching a plan to take a look at the book. She needed just five minutes.

Eventually, Hermione had timed it perfectly. She stood chatting in the hallway outside Snape’s office with Neville and Harry and slipped away under the guise of Harry’s cloak when Snape sauntered past them. She watched as Snape pulled out the book and started to write in it.

Making sure not to waste any time, Hermione scrambled back to Neville and Harry. She looked at her watch waiting for the sound of Filch’s angry shouts and Peeve’s high pitch cackle.

“Come on.” She muttered to herself. This had to work.

It wasn’t too much longer before both Peeves and Filch streamlined down the corridor. Filch was covered in colourful spots from one of Fred and George’s new powder bombs that Hermione had rigged to go off. The blame had been promptly placed on Peeves who had been nearby in his Thursday afternoon spot pestering the first-year Hufflepuffs who had come out of a double Potions with Snape.

Just as Peeves streaked by, Hermione turned to Harry and loudly announced that she had overheard Snape telling Professor McGonagall how he had approached Dumbledore with a plan to rid the school of Peeves foolishness for good. 

Upon hearing this, Peeves seemed to forget he was being chased and halted in his path. Right outside of Snape’s door. His trajectory changed and before Hermione knew it, Peeves had flown into the office and stolen Snape’s outer robes, which had been draped across of the back of his chair, and his wand too. It was better than Hermione could have hoped for.

Snape quickly joined Filch in the chase and Hermione found both his office and the large scarlet book open. 

Only for all her effort, Hermione found nothing. 

The notes under Malfoy’s name applauded his skills. She found no record of Malfoy making any mistakes. But before she could draw a conclusion that Snape knew better than to be caught for his bias, she found her own name.

Under Hermione Granger, the notes were nothing if not impressed by her potioneering. She found that Snape didn’t hate her at all. In fact, there were only marginal comments in regard to her missteps in a potion or two, and these were mistakes Hermione could confirm she made.

So, she was back to step one.

This time, Hermione deduced that she must observe Malfoy in action. She had to see if his skills really were that good.

Next potions class, Hermione found her eyes drawn to his table across the room. She watched as Malfoy gingerly picked up his knife to juice the Beetle Eyes. His fingers were long, and his skin was almost pale enough to be translucent.

Hermione became transfixed by his movements. His craftsmanship was almost beautiful.

Malfoy knew how to handle every ingredient. He stirred his cauldron slowly but with purpose. His watch was checked periodically, and he would promptly add each ingredient at the exact time it was needed.

She did not want to admit it, but he was skilled.

Hermione quickly decided that she could no longer be bothered by being second in Potions. Instead, she was fuelled to be better. She would fix her technique and rise to the challenge of beating Malfoy.

And although Hermione had let go of her mission, she found herself continually watching Malfoy as he worked. 

His fingers were long, but they were delicate. When he squeezed an ingredient between his forefingers, his muscles would tense throughout his hand. And when the potion was difficult, Malfoy’s hair would fall in front of his eyes and his eyebrows would furrow as sweat would bead along them.

Only when Hermione would find herself wondering what face he would make if his fingers were on her body would she look away. It was in those moments that she would actively not look back at him for the remainder of the day.

Throughout the years she would have similar thoughts if her eyes looked at his hands or neck for too long. 

Although, when she found herself alone in her four-poster Hermione would allow herself to wonder. 

What would happen if she touched him? Would he touch her back?

She would fantasize about elaborate dates and meeting Malfoy’s parents. She would change their mind about her blood status. Lucius Malfoy didn’t scare her.

Hermione could daydream all she wanted about how she would fight the prejudices of the Malfoy’s, but after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, her opinion of Lucius quickly changed. 

Hermione never wanted to be near him again. Even looking at Lucius filled her with disgust and rage. 

And yet, as Hermione stood before him trapped in her cell, she knew that she would talk to him. Hermione would indulge Lucius in whatever nasty things he had to say about her blood, parentage or allegiance. As much as she loathed him, Lucius was a visitor.

And visitors bring news. They bring information.

Hermione lifted her gaze from Lucius’ telltale cane. It had been further embellished. Near the bottom, there were intricate silver vines leading up to what looked like a drawing next to small silver letters. Hermione was struggling to make out the drawing and had spent several seconds trying to make sense of it while Lucius got closer to her cell.

Now that he was here, Hermione’s eyes met his grey ones. They were a diminutive and vindictive grey. Lucius’ gaze made her feel as though she was back on the drawing room floor being tortured by Bellatrix as Lucius’ eyes bore into her crippling body.

Hermione had to force herself to swallow her anger.

After taking in the current state of Harry’s loyal friend, Lucius made a small clicking sound with his mouth. 

“Look at what the Golden Girl has turned into.” Hermione’s chin lifted a little higher as Lucius continued, “I always suspected that when this was all over, you’d decompose into nothingness just like all the other Mudbloods. Hmmm… I bet you regret your decisions now.”

“I regret nothing,” Hermione stated defiantly.

How dare Lucius Malfoy presume to know anything about her and her strength. Hermione felt her voice itching to say more, but she remained in control.

“Well, that’s your mistake then.” Lucius made a broad gesture with his arms, referring to Hermione’s small cell. 

“You see Mudblood, your morals are what doomed you from the start. Morals have no place in politics. They are rarely transpicuous and blur at the slightest gray area. No, you see morals lead to defeat. The Dark Lord knew he would win because he isn’t weighed down by morals. Rather he abandons them and is uplifted by his strength.”

Lucius said this all matter-of-factly. As though he had spent his whole life considering how weak he may become if he had proper morals.

Hermione felt terrified for Malfoy in this moment. It is one thing to abandon morals due to cowardice or survival, but it is entirely another thing to be raised into a lifestyle that erases all indicators of right and wrong.

“I would disagree.” Hermione wagered. “You see, without morals you can never have loyalty.”

A sinister laugh began to creep out of Lucius. “Do tell Mudblood, how so?”

“Well, if you have morals, then the people who align themselves with you will share similar morals. Individuals will fight till death on the basis of these morals. They will be loved by those in their cause because of these shared morals.”

“I am loyal to my Lord.” 

That was laughable to Hermione. Her control was suddenly gone.

“No, you aren’t.” Her eyes bore into his. She took a step closer to the bars. “You are afraid.”

“How dare you make that accusation. Do you know who you are talking to? You should be bowing in my presence.”

Bowing? To Lucius Malfoy? Hermione wondered if he had been promoted in Voldemort’s ranks. Maybe he was second-in-command. She supposed this was likely. Lucius always was a kiss ass.

“I know who I’m talking to. A coward.” Hermione couldn’t stop herself now. “You are afraid of Voldemort and so you obey him because of the potential for consequences if you don’t. You are loyal to whoever will let you keep your societal status and money. How else would you explain your flip to the light when Voldemort was defeated the first time?”

She had him cornered now. 

Although Hermione had abandoned her goal of searching for information, she finally felt like herself again. Voldemort could keep her in his cage for as long as he wants, but Hermione would not abandon her morals.

“Think what you want Mudblood. You are nothing now.”

“I am a lot more than you, Lucius.” He took in a sharp breath as Hermione’s eyebrow quirked from the slightest rush of confidence.

“Now that the Dark Lord no longer needs you, maybe I should suggest that you need to be put in your place.” Lucius was challenging her. “Hmmm, would you like that?”

Hermione said nothing. Her eyes began to steel over as she locked her defiance into place. 

She had questions. Plenty. Firstly, why doesn’t Voldemort need her anymore? What changed? And was his need for her what led to her and Ron being placed in their own corridor in Azkaban?

It had been too long since Hermione had been out of this cell. She knew nothing of the current political situation in Europe, nor had she any indication of who held what role in Voldemort’s ranks. 

Asking these specific questions would cause Hermione to lose her façade of nonchalant confidence. Instead, Hermione settled on an acceptable question.

“Why did you come to visit me?”

Lucius’ head tilted to the side but his mouth remained shut. Hermione was not going to get anything valuable out of this visit.

She was about to turn around and retreat back to where she slept when Lucius decided to respond.

“I was surveying the others locked in here. You see, I get first-pick and I only choose the best.” A million thoughts began bouncing around in Hermione’s mind. 

With that Lucius straightened his robes and muttered, “Goodbye Mudblood. I reckon that we will be seeing each other real soon.”

As he walked away, Hermione’s façade began to crack.

She reasoned that it was likely her friends would be divided among Deatheaters. Voldemort wanted Half-bloods and Blood Traitors gone from society, but she could not imagine him wasting time doing that himself. No, her friends would go to Voldemort’s loyal followers and then would be tortured to death.

Even with this likelihood, Hermione was unable to help them. She was trapped in her cell.

Hermione began to wonder if there was any way to escape. She knew she couldn’t get past the wards by herself, but once she was outside the cell, maybe she had a fighting chance.

She sat in the back corner above her first set of tick marks and began to focus. Cold air drifted in through her nostrils and began to build at the back of her throat. Sending the air downward, Hermione’s lungs filled with air as she searched her body for traces of her magic.

Dumbledore’s Army had helped Hermione master some wandless offensive spells. If she could access her magic without her wand then she stood a fighting chance.

She couldn’t feel the rush of magic in her veins or the pulse in her fingertips. Hermione’s magic had been suppressed.

It was doubtful that the wards surrounding Hermione’s cell were advanced wards. She was a wandless witch and posed a limited threat inside of them. Therefore, she assumed the wards were suppressing her magic. If she could get outside of them, her magic would likely return.

Although this was a strong assumption to depend upon.

Hermione recalled a book titled Inner Magic and Duress which detailed a wizard’s magic in stressful situations, prisons, chains, etc. She knew there was a subsection on wards and she had read the book several times.

Inside of her mind, Hermione turned the pages to the large volume as she searched for a memory of the subsection.

What Hermione assumed was several minutes later, she had figured it out. Wards can suppress a wizard’s magic, but the wizard would be able to feel a hum of it underneath the suppression because wards don’t act on a biological level. If there is no hum, then Hermione realized her magic would be internally suppressed and leaving the wards would not make a difference.

Returning to her introspective state of meditation, Hermione allowed her breath to fill her lungs once again. On the second breath, her focus shifted. She sent her air throughout her body, flooding her veins.

Although the usual tingle of magic was absent, Hermione allowed her focus to stretch beneath the initial silence. Only, all she found was silence there too.

Her magic was fully suppressed.

Hermione wondered how they were suppressing her magic internally. She was lucid when she was taken and hadn’t been injected with anything. She and Ron hadn’t been struck by any spells. They hadn’t even been looked at by medi-witches until she had that one shower.

There was no reasonable explanation as to why Hermione couldn’t locate her magic. Unless…

It was baked in the scone.

Hermione knew that had to be the solution. The scone was the only thing going into her aside from water on a daily basis. They must be adding a suppressant to the baked good.

If she stopped eating, Hermione realized that her powers would return.

Only going without food was a risky game. Hermione was already without nutrients and had been for almost a year. The only thing keeping her in shape was her workout routine. She would ration her water throughout the day so that she could keep her body in good physical shape.

Hermione also wasn’t sure if she would be taken outside of the cell anytime soon. Still, it was her only plan and Lucius did say he would be back soon.

Eventually, Hermione decided she should stop eating. She made a plan to hide her scones underneath her blanket for four days in a row. If no one had come for her by the fifth day, she would gorge on the stale scones and begin again the next day.

Hermione also countered that she should be brushing up on her wand work and hand motions if she was to do magic soon. She continued in the routine for fifteen days. 

On the eve of the fifteenth day, Rookwood arrived.

“Special day for you Mudblood. Best be getting up now.” Rookwood announced bored.

He grabbed her forcefully by her arms and dragged her alongside of him down one of Azkaban’s long hallways. They did not pass any of Hermione’s friends. She figured this was for the best. 

Hermione had to save herself first, only then could she save her friends.

As they walked, Hermione could feel her magic surging back into her body. A wave of nausea hit her suddenly and Hermione had to keep herself from making a face or stopping.

Figuring it would be better to lose Rookwood first, she smugly hit him with Petrificus Totalus.

Rookwood fell to the floor, his face frozen in mid-shock. 

“Karma’s a bitch Rookwood.”

Hermione couldn’t see a clear path out, but she wandered forward down the hallway. A little ways further, she came to an unlocked door. She opened it a crack to listen for any noise. 

The light that poured through the crack was almost debilitating. It had been too long since Hermione had been exposed to sunlight. Her skin was concerningly pale.

After collecting herself, she realized the other side was silent and slid into the open room.

The room was pure white. It looked sterile and there was one bed in the middle of the room. An observation table of sorts.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a newspaper on the table. Perfect. Finally, news of the outside world. She knew the Daily Prophet would be manipulated with false and tampered news, but it was better than nothing.

As Hermione approached the paper, she heard voices coming closer to the room. The newspaper was within reach and Hermione quickly folded it and slid it down the waistband of her pants so that it nested nicely against her thigh.

Someone blew open one door and five Deatheaters charged in. 

Hermione cast several spells at them, but her magic was new to her and limited without a wand. She was stunned by a spell pretty quickly.

Later, when Hermione was conscious and alone in her cell, she pulled out the paper that she stole.

On the cover, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stared back at her with crowns on their head. The title of the article read: Establishing Control: Voldemort Names Numerous Sacred Pureblood Families as Monarchs Across Europe.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were the King and Queen of England.


End file.
